New York.—Bustling harassed men speeding hither and yon, clutching bits of paper in their hands on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Wildly clacking tickers emitting tape, to be seized by eager fingers, read by sharp eyes and then allowed to fall into white snarls in huge waste baskets.
Outside, Wall Street and Broad Street and Nassau Street, and all the adjacent asphalted chasms amid the tall cliffs of concrete and stone, black with hastening throngs. Fast moving crowds of men and women who not only pack the sidewalks but also overflow into the streets. Downtown New York; in the financial district, at the noon hour. Bankers, brokers, messenger boys rushing from their burrows to snatch a bite of lunch. Seemingly fearful that the world will slip into chaos in their absence from their posts if they delay a moment longer than necessary. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
A boy darted from the milling throngs on the west sidewalk of Nassau Street and defied New York's god, Speed, by stopping stock still in front of a red-headed urchin who, newspapers spread in piles in front of him and the piles held in their places against the swirling winds by stones, was shrilly shrieking, "Waddeya read! Baseball extra! Yanks Face Croocial Game! Waddeya read! Paper, mister?"
